


Behind Closed Doors

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Chan, Cross-Generation Relationship, M/M, POV First Person, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1770163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Because behind the closed door, he's got everything he wants, never had, holds dear.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/gifts), [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/gifts).



The clock strikes eleven, but the Order meeting is far from over, at least if you go by Harry's shouting, "No, no, no! We can't wait for them to make a move. We have to _act_!" and how Professor Lupin grits his teeth and my Dad sighs and walks away and Mum…Merlin, Mum doesn't know what to do with herself now Harry's taken over the Order, and it's a miracle she hasn't shouted us all up to bed.

I look at Fred and George, and they're mad impressed. Tonks snorts a laugh and sips her beer. "Kid's got a point," she says.

It's Sirius I can't figure out. He looks proud and furious both at once.

"Well," he says. "Nobody's fighting any Dark Lords tonight. Are they?"

I look between him and Harry – Harry's jaw clenched, Sirius' eyes seeming to speak to him still even though his mouth's gone silent.

"Fine," Harry grits. "Let's go to bed then."

Harry has never _closed_ a meeting before.

"Game of Wizard's Chess?" I ask as he passes.

His smile is tight. "Not tonight, mate, thanks."

I watch Sirius pour himself a Firewhiskey, a double, and down it. Then he follows Harry out of the room.

~

The sounds go on for exactly forty-six minutes. The hard slap of leather, followed by the yelp, the aborted cry, a sigh, and I can't bloody believe they didn't have the sense to put up privacy charms.

When I hear, "Oh-God-yes-Sirius," almost all one breath of a word, I cover my head with a pillow.

When I _still_ hear the answering chuckle; sheets rustling; a warm, whiskey voice, a hitched moan, and then the telling slap of skin on skin, I try _Muffliato_ but my dodgy wand backfires a pathetic belch of smoke.

Bloody hell, bedsprings.

Then pleas.

Demands.

An almost dog-like whine.

And I get now why Harry's being allowed to run meetings, why Sirius just watches and waits.

Because behind the closed door, he's got everything he wants, never had, holds dear.

I toss and turn and try to sleep, and next door they're laughing. They're _laughing_. 

And I know, without a doubt, that we're going to win this war.


End file.
